ucal pew, its gilded armchairs, red silk cushions, soft red silk
praying hassocks, and the gilt casement looking down into the church.
The church itself, designed by the Italian Papist, Frisoni, showed a
wealth of delicate pink brocade and of rich azure hangings, of golden
angels, of smiling goddesses whose voluptuous faces bore so unmistakable
a likeness to the Landhofmeisterin. With a sigh the Duchess fell on her
knees. 'God is everywhere,' she reminded herself, 'even in this frivolous
chapel.' She prayed earnestly for some time, and, rising, would have
turned to go, when her eye was caught by a finely sculptured medallion,
placed high up to the right of the much gilded and ornamented pulpit. Its
subject was Truth, and this severe personage stood represented by a
charming shepherdess with rose-wreathed mirror, and flower-bedecked,
coquettish hat, bare breast, and a skirt which, for no particular reason
unless it were the showing of the model's beautiful limbs, suddenly fell
on one side from the hip to the ankle of this remarkable figure of Truth.
Here again the face was unmistakable, and the sculptor had taken immense
pains to make this medallion a masterly portrait of the Landhofmeisterin.

With a gesture of despair and disgust the Duchess turned away and hurried
through the corridors. Placing her hand on Madame de Ruth's arm she
pressed her guide forward at so rapid a pace that the older woman almost
fell.

'Quick, Madame! quick, Madame! take me from this terrible place!' the
Duchess repeated. It seemed to her that Wilhelmine's face, her triumphant
beauty, pursued her at every yard of the Sinner's Palace. Even in the
church she knew that each figure, feigning to beautify the House of God,
was in reality merely another homage to the great mistress, another
subtle compliment of the architect Frisoni's for the Landhofmeisterin.

Madame de Ruth accompanied her Highness to her coach, and in broken words
the Duchess thanked her. 'If Fate turns against you here, Madame, you
will find a welcome at Stuttgart in memory of your kindness on this most
miserable day,' she said. But Madame de Ruth shook her head. She was of
the Ludwigsburg world, and when Frivolity forgot her she knew that she
would need no other refuge than six foot of earth beside her dead child.

Wearily the Duchess took her way homeward. There was no spark of hope
left in her heart now; she only raged that she had humbled herself, and
to no avail. The magnif